Of a Dying Star: Friya
by brightneeBee
Summary: She was never supposed to remember anything, but HYDRA didn't factor in that reprogramming could cause mental instabilities. Decades later, a chance encounter creates a break in the cycle. Friya may see the future, but she never saw Cap coming. Warnings inside. Starts Bucky/oc, but moves away from it quickly.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I haven't written anything in a good long while, but for now, I'm tinkering away on 2 ideas, and trying to reconfigure outlines for my previous WIPs that have kind of been left forgotten for some time, because honestly, I got burned out on writing altogether, plus my line of work took a lot out me, very stressful.**

 **If there is any potential for triggers, they will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, so keep an eye out for those, as well as a summary so if you're not able to read a chapter due to the trigger warning, you can at least stay up to date without experiencing the chapter in full. Summaries will be up here after the disclaimer and at the bottom after the chapter, so you can take your pick.**

 **If you have questions, or concerns, please PM me. Review if the mood strikes, and enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, so Marvel please don't sue me.**

 **SUMMARY:**

 **Bucky/Winter Soldier POV. Siberia. 1991.**

 **He is out of cryo for a time, being used to condition the new experiment team before they can undergo anything. She is an ethereal being in the cell next to him, another victim of reprogramming that isn't quite mentally stable. She sings the soldiers in the containment block to sleep, but Winter Soldier is never affected by it. She shifts through the vibranium walls and they have very violent, angry sex. Then they smoke cigarettes and he admits that he is being reprogrammed again in the morning, alluding to he will not remember her for a while. Then they have sex again, several more times before she returns to her cell, saying their farewells.**

Prologue

Siberia. 1991.

Every night outside of cryo was the same. Cold and damp in their individual prisons, watching her - this pale, ethereal being in a ripped and tattered white dress - through the window of his cell. Dirty, ragged sheets had been rigged from the bars lining the inside of her containment room, in random angles that allowed her to lounge near the ceiling, drape backwards and forwards and upside down like an acrobat, as she played with her hair and sang in a strange language until the entire hallway of experiments were trapped in a deep sleep.

Everyone, but him.

As the full moon reached its high peak in the night sky, she shifted through the walls and stood naked before him, inviting and shining like a newborn star. Chest heaving, skin flushed a natural peach hue, she would watch him like predator hunting prey, and their dance would begin. Stripped down to base instincts, they circled each other, both desperate to assert some form of control over their lives, over themselves. Imprisoned in an endless cycle of torture and commands, they both craved this animalistic, violent fight for domination. They needed it.

Slamming each other into the walls, hands roamed and the soldier's clothes were thrown to the side, piece by piece. They were both nude and equally matched, lips locked in a raging battle of feral desire, bodies sweating and desperate for hard earned release. Neither willing to surrender control, they crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, until one came out triumphant.

He always won...eventually.

"Come, soldier," she taunted, her accent alluring to Celtic and Nordic roots, but her rasp too thick to be certain. She flipped him over onto his back, his head between her firm thighs. "You can do better than this."

Tongue massaging her folds, and teeth nipping at her clit, he gripped her waist and reversed their positions with force. Her back connected with the floor with such impact all the air in her lungs rushed out, and he grinned into her cunt, listening to her struggled for a breath, as she writhed against his mouth. Even as her nails dug into his scalp, as she arched up to throw him off, she was at his mercy now.

Twisting her around, he grabbed her by the back of her neck and forced her to her knees, shoving her forward into the wall, denting the vibranium in the process. His front covered her back, one hand still wrapped around her throat, the other pinning her wrists together above her head. His cock slid against her slick cunt time and again, until she was trembling against him, choking out growls, ready for him to finally fuck her.

And he did.

Without guidance, he found her entrance and thrust, the sound of the impact between his pelvis and her ass reverberating through the room. He groaned, buried to the hilt inside her, a low, rumbling snarl escaping through his teeth. He pulled back and thrust again, her walls gripping him tightly as he started a harsh rhythm, hard, sharp, and steadily increasing. Her nails dug into the back of his hand, and she struggled to breathe still, but she encouraged him further. She bucked violently back as he thrust forward, and writhed against him, deprived of his touch for far too long this time.

She choked and gasped, her body tensing in convulsions as she reached her orgasm. And he followed quickly, slamming into her as hard and quick as he could, biting down on her shoulder with a ferocious, wild sound that no man should make. They crumpled to the floor, sprawling out on the cold floor, neither out of breath yet, but mutually spent.

"You're too quiet," she commented, lighting a cigarette from a pack of smokes she conjured from thin air. She took a long drag and exhaled, passing it to him. "And you're pulling your punches with the children. Your handlers noticed."

"Fuck 'em," was his reply, blowing out a huge cloud of smoke and rolling the cigarette between his fingers, while she lit another one for herself with a snap of her fingers. "They're reprogramming me in the morning."

She laughed, her foot massage the inside of his thigh and mimicking the stern tone of his handler in her raspy voice, "Mission report."

"Yeah, just like that," he replied, snuffing out the cigarette on the concrete floor, still staring up at the ceiling. He didn't even blink when she straddled his hips, because he grew hard at the sight of her looming over him, and the feel of her nails scraping down his chest, viciously enough to draw blood. He closed his eyes and let her ride him as fast and as rough as she pleased, his fingers bruising her hips. "Shit… Never stop."

They remembered enough after waking from cryo, but never much after hours spent in the machine. Past their shared sadistic needs to unleash their rage and repressed sexual tension on each other, neither of them ever had a long-term understanding of who they were to each other, or to HYDRA. They recognized each other enough to continue coming together, and craved each other through each reprogramming, each training session, each individual mission. They had never worked together, but they had lived next to each other when awake, and slept next to each other in their individual cryo-tanks. When he was thawed, she was thawed. When he was convulsing and sick from conditioning, she was there to lull him to sleep. When she came back from the machine, he watched through the window between their cells, as she laughed maniacally, laying on the floor. It had always been this way, for years now, yet neither of them could remember why, and they probably never would.

After several more rounds, and enough bruises and blood to concern a normal human being, she stumbled and shifted through the wall, back into her own containment cell, giggling drunkenly as she tripped into the mountainous piles of pillows littering the floor of her personal prison.

"Until we meet again, Winter."

He smirked, propping himself up on his cot, murmuring his reply, "Until then…"

 **SUMMARY:**

 **Bucky/Winter Soldier POV. Siberia. 1991.**

 **He is out of cryo for a time, being used to condition the new experiment team before they can undergo anything. She is an ethereal being in the cell next to him, another victim of reprogramming that isn't quite mentally stable. She sings the soldiers in the containment block to sleep, but Winter Soldier is never affected by it. She shifts through the vibranium walls and they have very violent, angry sex. Then they smoke cigarettes and he admits that he is being reprogrammed again in the morning, alluding to he will not remember her for a while. Then they have sex again, several more times before she returns to her cell, saying their farewells.**


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: This is early, but with such outpouring of support, I'm updating now. I'm hoping to have a schedule down soon, hopefully updates no later than 2 weeks apart.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Marvel, please don't sue me.**

 **Review if you feel like it! And above all, enjoy!**

Chapter One

Triskelion. Washington, D.C. 2014.

Waking.

The involuntary convulsions and roiling nausea had always been the trademark of thawing out from a long cryo-sleep. As was the cold sweats and the sensitivity to light and sound, it always made her cringe and flinch and whimper. It was one of the worst feelings she had ever experienced consistently and repeatedly in her unusually long life.

"Has her mental state been repaired?"

Alexander Pierce. She would recognize his voice anywhere. He sounded older than the last time. How long had it been since she was wiped and put under again?

"No, sir," someone replied, nervously. "Ever since the change in protocol, she has not been able to heal the damage from the machine."

"Good," was Alexander Pierce's cold reply. "Prep her for a mission report with the Asset. We cannot allow Rogers to get away, again."

"Yes, sir."

She was transferred to the flat, cold surface of a standard issue stainless steel lab table, allowed to lay curled on her side, and then rolled through the subterranean corridors towards the room that housed the machine. It was always the same dim lit hallway, same dull gray walls, same monotonous scientists and doctors pushing her around. HYDRA was nothing but predictable. Things never change.

Well, except for the year.

The doctor at the helm of her transport took a hard left into the conditioning room, which is all it took for her stomach to churn again, and for her to throw up on herself, the table, and the floor. And then she laughed, involuntarily and maniacally, her voice more raspy since the last time she was brought out for reprogramming.

By the Gods, she was desperate for a glass of water, and a smoke, which was the only decent thing the last 300 years had produced, in her opinion.

There was screaming. Agonizing, gut-wrenching, masculine screaming that was far too familiar for her to ever be forced to forget. She didn't even have to look over to know who was making such a gods-awful sound. If she was awake, then so was he, though his name escaped her as another wave of nausea crashed through her, and she fell off the table into her own vomit. It was something that would never be found funny to anyone, ever, but she was unable to stop laughing between the dry heaves and gagging.

Eventually -

Winter.

That was his name.

The Winter Soldier.

And she was… She was… Well, fuck.

Eventually, she was dragged up to her feet and dropped into an updated version of the machine, still cold, mechanical, and as sobering as ever.

"No," she groaned. "Not again…"

The vibranium locks enclosed around her arms and torso, securing her into the machine, and the terror set in. The electrode panels that fit perfectly over the sections of the brain that HYDRA needed to target to wipe their assets clean. No sentimentality, no anchors to morality, nothing except loyalty to the cause.

"Please," she begged, kicking her legs out, struggling against her restraints. "I'll obey this time. I swear it, please."

Alexander Pierce studied her for a moment, calculatingly, and then decided, "Wipe her."

A mouthguard was shoved in her face, and she spit out the last of the vile before she took let them push it past her teeth, and then she bit down, as prepared as she could be for the pain she was soon to experience, for what purpose, she had no clue. She usually remembered the important little details, and that hadn't changed since 1991.

The panels pressed close to her head, and her chest heaved as she listened to the machine whirring back to life. In front of her stood Winter, void and emotionless, watching as the electrodes crackled to life. She focused on him, as electricity seared through her brain and she screamed. Throat dry and burning, she screamed through the pain and the confusion and then, as it neared the end, she giggled as she was enveloped by overwhelming euphoria.

Oddly, she always forgot the high after the pain.

As the haze settled into a lovely sensation of giddiness, Pierce dished out their individual orders, outlined their mission, and made it clear the timeline for completion. Blunt and quick, as always.

"Clean her up, she stinks," was Pierce's last command before he left, leaving the strike team and Winter to get her ready.

Stripped of her ripped and tattered leotard, which used to be a stunning white, she was lifted over Winter's shoulder- thinking that made her laugh maniacally - and deposited down the corridor in a communal shower that smelled greatly of mold and disuse. She was bombarded with freezing cold water, Winter scrubbed her and rinsed out the vomit from her hair until she smelled of old soap, and was no longer covered in the decaying filth of her last mission.

That was the extent of his involvement.

Dried off with a musty towel, she was escorted down the corridor to the weapons room to dress.

"At last, something recognizable," she said, holding up her updated suit, no more leotards and unacceptable dresses. It was armored, but flexible and lightweight, and it covered her from shoulders to ankles. She even had new boots. "Very nice."

Looking over her shoulder, she smiled mischievously at Winter as she dressed and ran a brush through her long, pale hair. Still wet, it looked silver and it hung straight down, the ends dripping against the bottom of her waist. When it dried, it would stay the same, dry and stringy locks that used to flow in soft waves and graceful curls that once shone white in the moonlight, and sparkled in the sun.

No need for guns, she zipped up the suit and secured it at her throat, tightening her blank boots under her knees, a stark difference between the black leather and silvery gray of her uniform. She twirled around, laughing gleefully as she ran her fingers through her hair. She stopped quickly, fixating on the Winter Soldier and their personalized strike team, almost vibrating with anticipation and excitement.

"Let's wreak some havoc, boys," she exclaimed, following Winter through the underground levels to HYDRA's secret garage.

They set out, and she did as she was commanded: wait until she was needed.

All she could do was sit and listen in the back of her van, waiting until the Winter Soldier needed her particular talents. And it wasn't long until her handlers threw open the doors and released her from the restraints locking her into the seat. The overpass was already crumbling in places as far as she could see, through the smoke and debris.

Outside, she jumped over an intact bit of concrete railing and landed firmly beneath the overpass, scanning the damage before moving forward towards the fight. Winter was ahead, tracking someone, and she could see a target to her right - the shield alone unmistakable.

Captain America.

Glowing dimly in the sunlight, she hummed a soft, sweet tune to draw him closer and lure him in. Yet, he did not fall victim to her tricks, unaware of her altogether and running between vehicles towards the Winter Soldier. She smirked, intrigued by this development, and took off after him.

Taking the long way 'round, cutting off the Captain's path with a chillingly maniacal smile. No one, except Winter, had ever failed to succumb to her ethereal tunes, and yet, this man had. She was itching for a good fight.

"Who are you?" he asked, sizing her up.

"If I knew, I'd be more than happy to share," she replied, deflecting his shield into the back of an abandoned van. "Who are you, Captain, without your shield?"

"A soldier."

"Interesting."

He swung for her, but missed. He tried again, and still he couldn't keep track of the fluidity of her body, the way she moved. He kicked, she flipped over his leg and knocked his legs out from under him. He moved to deflect, and she nailed him in the torso.

"Lyuks! On ne tvoya missiya!"

Winter was in her ear, ordering her to stand down, and it gave the Captain the opening he needed.

He finally landed a hard punch to her temple, and her eyes grew wide, flashes of his life passed through her mind; of Winter and he strolling through a city, looking very different from present day, of him finding Winter on decaying metal table muttering to himself, of them both charging battlefields, of him yelling as he watched Winter fall to his death in the Swiss Alps.

It was like a bolt of lightning through her chest, and they broke away, both in shock. She understood now what drove this man, what pointed his moral compass. He was not the enemy. He was salvation.

The Avengers were salvation.

"How did you do that?" Captain asked, bewildered. "What did you do?"

"I saw what you saw," she gasped, pieces of her mind surging back into place, her synapses firing away. She grasped her head, all sorts of images flashing before her eyes, one after the other after the other. She was being bombarded with memories of her life before HYDRA, of her origin, of future scenarios that made no sense. "What is happening?"

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked, sincere in his concern. "I can help you-"

"I'm not supposed to be here," she whimpered, still clutching her head as she witnessed the end of this fight, and the one soon to come: the fall of HYDRA and SHIELD. She understood none of it, the pieces were like shards trying to find a place in which they fit, all mixed in with the memories of who she once knew herself to be. It all circled around Winter and Cap, and it clicked. "You know him."

"Who?"

"Only you can save him," she rasped, the pain easing and her mind clearing enough to move away and try to stand. She was not where she needed to be. "It's not too late, Captain."

She faded from sight, leaving him to the Winter Soldier.


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: I'm a few chapters ahead right now and trying to pace updates so they don't catch up with me, in case I fall behind.**

 **Enjoy! And review if you feel like it!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, Marvel please don't sue me.**

Chapter Two

Sokovia. 2015.

A year had passed since the fall of SHIELD and the fracture of HYDRA. A year of chaos that she had created by not participating. A year of rehabilitation, as she pieced the broken shards of her mind together and HYDRA's hold fell away, completely. She was almost healed, still unstable from decades of reprogramming, but time would mend what men had broken. The only clear understanding she had when she faded away in Washington, was the image of two young siblings unable to process what would soo happen to them. They needed her, and von Strucker had benefited greatly from her presence when she arrived.

It was winter now, the leaves brown and mixed with the snow on the ground. The air was cold and sharp in her lungs, but relatively enjoyable compared to the unbearable summer they had all experienced. The snow crunched under their feet in the small courtyard of the stone fortress, while her charges waited for her to start their training for the day. It was as any other day, except she felt as though something was off, not quite right. She was trapped in a premonition, an experience she was still becoming used to, as they had been few and far between since they had begun.

Eyes mirroring the infinite universe, she turned towards the gated entrance, and the images became clearer. She could see the Avengers storming the castle, the final end to HYDRA on the horizon, and the dawn of a new era lighting the way. And it all pivoted around Sokovia and a man hiding in Romania, whom just a glimpse of was enough to make her smile, seeing him with her - the asset that escaped. And a woman, so alike to her, with dark hair and eyes so warm and kind, and a name long forgotten, it seemed a myth.

Then it was over, and she was simply standing in the snow.

"What did you see?" asked Pietro.

She turned around, wiping away a rogue tear from her pale cheek, "An old friend, is all."

"What else?"

"I remembered my name," she replied, steeling herself to train them. "Come, we must train."

And they did.

Neither Maximoff sibling could beat her, but that was never the point. They needed to control their newfound abilities, and that is exactly what she was teaching them. Pietro still had trouble holding his speed. Wanda was terrified of the power she could wield, if only she would fully embrace it.

Pietro attempted to catch her off guard, only to miss her by a fraction of a millisecond. She appeared behind him, wrapping an arm around his throat and flipping him over her shoulder. Wanda sent a weak scarlet blast at her back, which was easily blocked by a white shield. And while Pietro recovered from the loss of air in his lungs, she took the time to fire away at Wanda, forcing the girl to block, deflect, evade, but her attempts were foiled by thinly veiled fear and nerves.

"You're holding back," she said, forcing Wanda backwards with a small blast of white light. "Embrace the light, the power inside of you. Do not let it control you. Stop being so afraid."

She blasted the girl again, and again, increasing the intensity of her power, until Wanda was halfway across the courtyard on her back.

"I'm not," was the girl's reply, struggling back to her feet. "It doesn't control me."

"Then fight back!"

Creating a sphere of blue and white light swirling around crackling energy, she looked to Pietro and took a chance. She would either greatly disfigure and mangle him, or finally trigger a strong reaction from Wanda. Planting her foot on his chest, she aimed the sphere at his head and let her power surge. She gave the scarlet haired girl a challenging look, hoping the look of horror spoke more of an intense bind shared by the twins, and not paralyzing terror. And then she let the deadly dome fall.

Mid-descent, Wanda prevailed, at last, and protected her brother with a huge, violent blast of red power. It sent the pale woman hurling back through the air, crashing through a stone archway, the sphere colliding with her chest upon impact. It seared and sizzled through her veins, her body reabsorbing the energy in a way that was almost pain, and yet a touch exciting. As the burning subsided, her limbs tingled with electrifying excess.

It took her a moment to compose herself, taking deep, rasping breaths, but she grinned at the twins, almost as if she were a proud mother.

"Very good," she said, star light shining from her hands, as she took a defensive stance. "Now work together, and don't back down."

The weeks passed by, and the twins began improving in leaps and bounds. Pietro soon managed to control his speed, and had begun incorporating hand to hand combat into his repertoire, while Wanda had fully accepted her gift. The young woman had mastered the finer aspects of mind manipulation, increasing and decreasing the amount of energy she used, and was excelling at deciphering the puzzles of the future based on the possible paths an individual could, or would, take.

They had begun calling her by her name, Friya - the only information Wanda had managed to extract during an intense practice session. It had been a triumphant moment, and Friya had reported to Baron von Strucker that the twins's training was close to complete, secretly knowing the Avengers would be attacking the compound in a few days time.

The days passed quickly, and Friya had taken to her dungeon cell to stretch and hang from the sheets, strung hitherto throughout the room. She allowed herself to shine bright, her mind still slightly addled as she laughed and sang and played with her hair. Spying on the Winter Soldier, tucked away and safe for now with the asset she had been tasked with retrieving years after her escape. She had kept tabs on them both in the passing weeks, watching them both heal together, reunited after decades apart. It had never crossed her mind that there was a deeper connection between herself and Winter, only a need to express the rage they both shared under HYDRA's repressive regime, nothing more. In the darkest ramparts of her mind, she had known that his anger and resentment partly stemmed from being separated from his partner. No matter that the woman - Josephine, if she remembered correctly - had been repeatedly erased from Winter's mind, those two had always been drawn back together, always meant to be. Knowing they were both safe together was enough to bring a genuine smile to Friya's face.

For she knew, as fleeting as a wisp of smoke on the wind, that her great love would come one day...


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Report to your stations immediately! This is not a drill! We are under attack!"

The Avengers had arrived, a day earlier than expected, but Friya had been prepared for weeks. There was nothing left for her to do, she had trained the Maximoffs, and now they had to go forward without her. It was the right path for them, while her path only came in bits and pieces. It was time.

"We are under attack! I repeat, we are under attack!"

There was chaos outside the walls, and the scurrying of HYDRA agents within, trying to dispose of as much data as possible before a breach. She was already entering the command center when von Strucker made his speech about never surrendering, but she knew that he would. He would never jeopardize his work, the twins, or Friya. He obviously had more than one contingency plan, and she also knew he would be dead before the week was out.

With a nod from von Strucker, she guided Pietro and Wanda away, "Come."

They followed her down into the lab, anxious and worried, knowing what would happen next. Friya could not bring herself to lie to them, especially Wanda. They were like the children she never had, so scared and vulnerable, filled with resentment, and desperate for vengeance. And Wanda was so much like herself, her power mimicking Friya in every way. Knowing they had mere minutes together was causing great heartache.

"Stay here, and stay hidden," Friya whispered, embracing them both. "You know what to do."

And then she was gone, faded away in wisps of light, leaving them to listen to the sounds reverberating through the castle.

Friya appeared in the snow burdened forest, ahead of the fight, clothed in her favorite white suit embroidered with vibranium and silver. An ancient diadem of silver looped around her head, encrusted with ice crystals and sapphires harvested in the fjords of Norway thousands of years ago. Her hair long haired flowed in silvery white curls, almost pulled straight from the weight, as the ends fluttered at her knees.

Traveling through the trees, down towards the battle, she hit the invisible barrier marking the limit of her boundary around the fortress. The mechanism in her neck activated, and she was sent flying backwards, shrieking, several meters before a tree intervened. The kinetic energy simmering under her skin was redirected, once she caught her breath. She focused it all into the monitoring disk, and groaned through a clenched jaw, as it burned and deactivated from the inside out.

"We've got a casualty!" someone stated, as if they were speaking into a com-device. "Are you alright?"

"It hurts," she rasped, looking up into the masked face of Captain America. She pleaded with him, her eyes sparkling with joy and pain. "I am almost free. Please."

Digging at the edges of the device with her fingernails, she felt his gloved hand touching her arm. He gently pushed her hand away, pinching the disk himself. Relaxing back into the tree, she turned her head and watched him fight to make the decision to help her or take her into custody.

"I don't plan on killing you, Captain," she coughed, flinching as the device tugged at her flesh. "I've been waiting for you."

His eyes widened for a moment, recognition washing over him, "You were there, in DC, with Bucky."

"Is that his name?" Friya replied, smiling weakly at him, the disk sizzling under her skin. "His journey, his freedom… it wasn't my time. Please."

He nodded, steeling himself, "This is probably going to hurt."

"I'm ready."

He ripped it from her in a fraction of a second, the entire device dripping blood from the tendrils. The wound in her neck was gushing, and she covered it with her hand. Cap was watching her, unsure of how to help, until she started to heal herself. Starlight and warmth spread from the tips of her fingers, down into the center of her palm, erasing the injury, as if it had never happened.

"You okay?" He asked, offering her a hand. She took it, and he pulled her up. "That must come in handy."

"Not as often as you'd think." Rubbing the spot, she laughed, genuine and sweet, "You're funny. Thank you."

"You promised not to kill me, remember?" He smirked, and she was dazzled by the sly quirk of his lips, so much so that her cheeks flushed a pale pink. "Plan on keeping your word?"

"My allegiance has never been to HYDRA," she answered, shaking off the weird reaction to him. She started walking towards the fight, flicking her wrists and conjuring two swords of crystallized starlight and ancient metals. She called back to him, "Are you coming?"

Friya jumped into the fray, taking out guards that had watched her train the twins, had even watched over her during the times when the pieces of her mind fell out of place, and she was isolated for days, unable to recognize fantasy from reality. She spent those days, aware of the men standing vigil, but too embroiled in her own hilarity and her own insanity to fully comprehend what was happening outside her cell. In the present, she cut them down. They were still HYDRA, and they needed to be cut out like a cancer from the world.

The Captain fought near her, reporting to his teammates and keeping an eye on her, in case this was another HYDRA trick. She was incredible to watch in between tanks and soldiers firing away, like a ballerina in the snow. She would take on a group of HYDRA soldiers at one time, conjuring strange blades and sending them off to take out as many as possible, while she bent, kicked, and twirled through hand-to-hand combat with as much grace as superhumanly possible. There were times that a HYDRA fighter got close to killing her, he assumed, but the bullets would always rebound off a barrier that shimmered, the bullets ricocheting back towards their owners, killing them instantly. Her hands shone brightly, and her pale skin glowed as she fought, and it was odd, yet beautiful, in a sense, to him.

While Friya took care of some tanks, Cap lost sight of her, and suddenly was flipped, landing on his feet in another direction. There had been a blur, and then nothing. The strange woman was out of his sight, but she had not shown that kind of speed during their initial meeting in Washington. It had to be another person with abilities that had joined the fight. There was no other explanation.

"We have another enhanced in the field," he reported through his ear-com.

Friya had noticed Pietro immediately, tracking him through the woods until he left, knowing she could not show tenderness or compassion towards them from this point out, not until the tides turned. She ducked and swung her sword, cutting down another opponent as the Captain found his way back to the center of the chaos. He took down several men nearby, and talked to something in his ear, starting to feel a little out of breath.

"Stark, we really need to get in there."

Friya created an energy sphere in between her limber fingers, stretching it wide and thin, like a disc, before throwing low to the ground near another group of HYDRA soldiers, when Thor, God of Thunder, smashed it with his hammer, his lightning and her power reacting in a strange way. It spread out and disabled every soldier within a 10 meter radius, all the while producing a shrill, vibrating sound that caused Friya to flinch. It rang in her ears, making her teeth grind, and her nose start to bleed, but it ceased almost instantly, once the last remnants of electricity fizzled out.

She shook it off, while Thor spoke to the Captain.

"The Enhanced?"

"A blur," Cap responded, surveying his surroundings for any stray attackers. "All the new players we've faced, I've never seen this. In fact, I still haven't."

"I have," rasped Friya, straightening up from her crouched position. "I trained them."

Thor raised his hammer to strike her down, Cap trying to stop him, but Friya simply waved her hand and forced the hammer to the ground, "I'm not here to kill you, Asgardian. I'm finally free of HYDRA, I have no desire to go back and fight for them."

She took a moment to take a deep breath and wipe the blood from her nose, "I cannot stop them hating you, or fighting you, but I promise that I will not protect them from you. They will change their minds, eventually."

"Your allegiance is with who, then?" asked Thor, still confused on how she managed to overpower Miljonir. "Yourself?"

"She's with us," Cap interjected, turning his head to listen to a voice in his ear.

Thor responded, first," I can get Barton to the jet. The sooner we're gone, the better."

He looked at the Captain, "You and Stark secure the scepter."

"Copy that."

"Where do you need me?" asked Friya, healing her nose and sniffing without flinching. "What can I do to help?"

"Are you able to heal Barton?" asked Cap, noticing the line of marching soldiers followed by a tank. She nodded, moving out of the way. "Then go with Thor. We should be taking off once we get the scepter."

"Looks like they're lining up," said Thor, picking up the hammer.

The Captain took a knee, holding up his shield, and braced himself, "Well, they're excited."

Friya disappeared in an array of light, reappearing seconds later once they were finished, having no desire to experience the high-pitched shrillness of Miljonir again. She knew of its power, how it was forged, but she had never seen or heard or felt it in action. It a quick, sharp, piercing pain through her mind, unsettling what had taken a year to fix.

"Find the scepter," Thor reiterated to the Captain, before taking Friya by the hand and setting off to the skies...


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

There was nothing more to be done by the time Friya finished healing Agent Barton. It had taken more out of her than she expected, as the cause of the injury had been a blast of a weapon manufactured from the power of the scepter. She had actually broken a sweat concentrating on separating the residue left behind, binding into his blood until it could sweep through his body. Moving her fingers over the large wound, she used wispy tendrils of her power to pick it apart and peel it away, until it was completely gone. Only then could she hover her palms gently over the injury and blindingly shine her essence until the organs were repaired, the flesh grew back, and the skin resembled more of a burn, than a gaping hole in his side.

It had been a very long time since she had healed another person, specifically a mortal, and she was still recovering her full potential.

The moment she was done, the red-haired agent had cuffed her wrists together, and Thor had secured her into a seat. She was officially in the custody of the Avengers, and no one paid her any attention once they were in the air. All attention was on leaving Sokovia, and checking on Barton and the scepter. The red-haired agent, Natasha, eventually slipped away to talk gently with the recovering Dr. Banner.

Technically, she could break the restraints binding her into the very comfortable seat, but she stayed there, next to the scepter, trying to recuperate from the day. She rested her head back, and closed her eyes, working on calming her frayed synapses and melding her mind back together before reality slipped through her fingers. She enjoyed lucidity far more than insanity.

"Feels good, yeah?" said Stark, joining the Captain and Thor at the scepter case by her. "I mean, you've been after this thing since SHIELD collapsed. Not that I haven't enjoyed our little raiding parties, but…"

"No, but this," Thor replied. "This brings it to a close."

Cap joined in, as well, "As soon as we find out what else this has been used for… I don't just mean weapons. Since when is Strucker capable of human enhancement?"

At this, she peeked, and caught him looking at her for an answer.

"It's complicated," she said.

"Uncomplicate it, then," said Stark. "How did he manage it?"

"I gave him my blood," she explained, staring at the ceiling of the jet. "The doctor made a serum for the twins, and used the scepter as a catalyst, with me as a conduit. Similar to the process that created the Captain."

"How did he know to use Loki's scepter in such a way?" demanded Thor.

She scoffed, "It was never Loki's scepter, it belonged to a being outside the reaches of the universe. It is a vessel for something far too powerful for even an Asgardian to understand."

"How did he know, though?" Cap pushed.

"I told him," was her simplistic answer. "Your face looks pinched. Why is it pinched?"

"You," the Captain shook his head in disbelief. "I don't even know what to make of you. We don't even know your name."

He looked almost betrayed, as if she had lied to him, but she had not. He didn't understand the reasoning behind why she had helped Strucker re-make the twins, or why she had stayed within HYDRA at all after disappearing in Washington. They were all confused, and she was unsure of how to make them understand without giving away what she was, or who she was. If she wanted their help to fix her, then she would need be honest. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? To be honest, to be good and natural. To become the being she had once been.

"My name is Friya," she finally replied, shaking off the aching throb in her mind, and taking quick notice of recognition in Thor's eyes. "I had my reasons."

"And what are those?"

Friya looked back towards Natasha, who had become vaguely interested in the conversation. Still crouched down by Dr. Banner, she had obviously been listening the entire time, but her hand was still casually resting on the good doctor's knee. It was oddly intimate, although Friya had no reason to question it.

Looking back to Natasha, she offered an apologetic smile, small and subdued, "I saw the death of this world, the end to you all. I intend to change that outcome."

"You saw that?" asked Stark, reluctant to believe the truth in her words. "You saw our deaths?"

"Yes," she coughed, flinching as the pain in her head grew more difficult to ignore. "Bits and pieces, that's all I can manage. My mind is still… shattered. I am not as strong as I once was. I need your help, and you need my help. Those are my reasons."

"Okay, well," said Stark, choosing not to poke at her reasoning for the time being, moved on. He turned his attention to the scepter and Thor, while Friya returned to voiding her mind. "Banner and I will give it a once over before it goes back to Asgard. Is that cool with you? Just a few days until the farewell party. You're staying, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course," was Thor's answer. "A victory should be honored with revels."

"Yeah, who doesn't love revels? Captain?"

"Hopefully, this puts an end to the Chitauri and HYDRA," the Captain replied. "So, yes, revels."

The rest of the flight settled into white noise for Friya, her mind going blank, and all she was left with was a throbbing pain spreading from her brain down into the rest of her body...


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Avengers Tower. New York City.

The last time Friya had been in New York was when the Statue of Liberty had been completed in 1886. The celebrations and parties had been elegant and wild, patriotism spreading through the streets, while enemies became brothers in America, if only for a short while. It had been a very unique and wonderful experience.

Technically, it was the only time she had been in New York. This new, modern city was quite hard to take in. Everything was glass facing and crowded, nothing resembled the brick buildings and horse drawn carriages that she remembered. It was all so loud.

Her only consolation, after being dragged up to her feet and pushed from the jet into the Avenger's Tower, was Dr. Banner and Dr. Helen Cho. Both absolute delights, compared to everyone else. The Captain still showed her a small sliver of compassion, as her condition worsened during the trip. Everyone else adamantly kept their distance after watching her slip out of reality; the winding branches of the future weaving about a tree, and the pain, had created another crack in her psyche.

She had spent the last few hours of the flight wriggling in her seat and laughing maniacally, her eyes nothing more than a system of stars and suns and moons. Nothing made sense, and everything changed from one moment to the next. It was too much to keep up with, and too much for her fractured mind to comprehend.

Dr. Banner had dosed her with something to calm her down and ease the pain, which he had vaguely explained as being an injection he had created to slow his heart rate to prevent a transformation. She had groggily thanked him when reality slowly crept back and she was able to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

The next day had been far more exciting to anyone who wasn't secured to a table, and pumped full of drugs.

Dr. Banner had taken blood samples while she slept, and Dr. Cho had become fascinated with Friya's genetics. Still groggy, and aching for a stretch, Friya had distracted herself with watching them go about their work. Waiting for them to start asking questions, or anyone else for that matter.

The Captain was preoccupied with something, but he had stayed by her side for the most part. Whenever the phone in his hand rang, he would leave to get privacy, and then return, more stoic and reserved than before.

Thor had sat in the corner, studying her ever since she had woken up in the early hours of the morning. Dr. Banner could be seen passed out at one of the plasma computers, the system running tests on her samples. There had been no one else in the separate lab, and Thor had simply stared at her for hours, neither willing to break the silence. It had been a relief to see the smiling face of Dr. Cho, the reserved look in Cap's eyes, and the groggy, disheveled head of Dr. Banner jerk awake when the computer beeped with results. The work continued, and transitioned to scans of her brain, and then her body, and then she had been strapped back to the table to await something more than just existing.

"How are you doing with all this?" the Captain finally asked, putting his phone away and focusing on her bored expression. "I know it's a lot, but we still don't know if we can trust you."

"If they can fix what HYDRA did to me, this will be worth it," she mumbled, fatigued and nauseated, but she offered him a weak smile, at any rate. "I understand your hesitations. I am not exactly stable. I haven't been for a very long time."

"Hopefully, we can help with that," he said, returning her smile. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

Friya thought for a moment, and then answered with a coarse whisper, "A pillow, and a trip to a...bathroom, if that can be arranged. Perhaps a shower, as well?"

He chuckled and nodded, understandingly, "I'll see what I can do. Try and get some more rest."

"Thank you."

She closed her eyes and drifted off, ignoring the intense gaze of Thor.

Some time had passed when the Captain gently nudged her awake. Sluggish, and still feeling the effects of whatever serum Dr. Banner had pumped into her the day before, Friya had to lean against the Captain when she managed to steady her feet. He helped her to the elevator, and they got off several floors up. He maneuvered her through a living space and into a bedroom, helping her into a bathroom that seemed prepped already for her arrival. Military blue towels, professionally pressed and scented, sat on the sink counter, floral shampoo was perched on the side of a large tub, and a shopping bag stood on the floor by the door. A peek inside showed her that the bag held a set of undergarments in a ridiculous shade of yellow, and a simple sunflower day-dress.

What was she? A doll?

"Do you need any help?" asked the Captain, looking extremely embarrassed, a blush creeping up his neck. "I can see if Hill or Natasha can-"

She shook her head, aware that neither woman he mentioned trusted her, nor liked her very much, at the moment. No, she had faith that he could get over the intimacy of seeing her naked, especially since this was out of necessity, not arousal or passion or lust. She needed his help to get out of her bloody, dirty suit, first, and then the more embarrassing of necessities could be addressed. She was desperate to relieve herself, and desired nothing more after than a decent bath or shower, whichever could be managed.

"I don't think you can manage on your own," he said, watching as she teetered on the edge of the tub, still under the influence of Dr. Banner's drugs. "I really should get someone to help you."

"Just you," she said, grabbing his hand and attempting to pull herself up. "I trust you not to drown me. Please, help me out of this thing."

And that was the end of it.

The Captain steadied her when she stood, and looked away as she unzipped her dingy white suit. Try as he may, as he assisted her in pulling her limbs free, his cheeks turned bright red and tried not to focus on the fact that she wore no undergarments. Although, when the suit was bundled around her ankles, he set her down on the commode and left the bathroom to allow her that privacy, and, she suspected, to shake off his embarrassment.

When she was relieved, Friya flushed the evidence away, and called weakly to let the Captain know he could come back in. He did, but it seemed rather reluctantly. He started the tub, and pulled the suit the rest of the way off, taking great care not to touch her more than necessary. She could see how deeply ingrained his respect for women ran, as well as his manners, the need to be appropriate, and to do all things properly. It was endearing, to say the least.

When he set her in the tub, turning off the steaming water, he took a seat on the closed commode and stared at the tiled floor, perfectly at ease with being silent. She said nothing about the heat of the water, nor did she ask for him to help her bathe. It seemed too much to ask of him, considering how uncomfortable she had made him already. No, she submerged herself completely, despite how red the water turned her skin, and came back up through the surface, alert enough to begin the process of cleaning herself.

At one point, as she combed conditioner through her hair with long, slender fingers, Friya stole a glance over her shoulder at the Captain, and finally asked the question that she should have asked before he saw her naked.

"I realize that I don't know your name," she said quietly, still working the conditioner down to her ends. "I've only ever known you as Captain America. It seems rude to not know your name, considering what you've done for me."

"Steve," he replied. "Steve Rogers."

"I thank you, Steve Rogers," she said in return, glancing one more time at him from over her shoulder. "Thank you for… everything."


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The few days spent in Avengers Tower had blurred together in escorts to and from the lab, with her lodgings consisting of a containment cell made of some hybrid plastic Friya could not pronounce. Steve and Thor had taken up the responsibility of watching her without a word to anyone. She was restrained with vibranium wrist cuffs and guided barefoot wherever she was required. She had even been equipped with a strange, humming collar around her neck that zapped her whenever she attempted to use her light outside of the indestructible plastic bubble.

To be fair, she had only tried to fade out to use a bathroom during a brain scan that had already taken several hours.

She had ended up urinating on herself and the equipment, and Steve and Thor, both, had to carry her to a shower to get cleaned up. She had refused to leave her cell for the rest of the day, dressed in gray leggings and a stretchy top with thin straps - she could not remember what it was called, a noodle top? Whatever it was, there was a level of comfort that could not compare to it. She would wear nothing else if she could. So, Friya had magicked flexible ropes of sheer, stretchy fabric, and amused herself with her usual acrobatics, while Steve and Thor watched.

By late morning, on the day of some party or celebration, she woke to the sound of someone tapping on her cell. Stretching out on her piles of pillows, she cracked an eye to see the entire brigade stood behind Steve, all looking as if they had great expectations, or limited time.

"Rise and shine," Steve said, tapping in the security code to unlock the door to her cell. "Dr. Cho has your results, and we have some questions."

Friya stretched a bit more, before getting to her feet and offering her wrists, so Thor could cuff her with obvious mistrust. She was escorted up to the lab, where Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner were waiting, looking over her scans and blood work until everyone crowded in. She took her seat on the lab table, and waited.

Dr. Banner cleared his throat, and Dr. Cho typed in her records, before anyone broke the silence.

"Can we get started? Some of us have a party to get ready for," said Stark, crossing his arms and leaning against a shiny bit of machinery.

Banner looked at Dr. Cho, and Friya looked at them both expectantly, and the answer was less than anticlimactic.

"Inconclusive, across the board," stated Banner, rubbing his chin and projecting her lab results for everyone to see. "The closest DNA comparable is Thor, as an Asgardian, but there are significant deviations, and most of her cellular structure is collectively light particles. Basically, she's an unknown variable made of pure magic."

"And what of my brain?" Friya asked, indifferent to being an unknown variable, because, technically, she was born out of starlight and magic. "Did the scans discover anything?"

Dr. Cho displayed all the scans they had taken, and zoomed in on a specific part of Friya's brain that looked more solid, with a tangle of rapid sparks that moved nowhere. It was beautiful in motion, all the colors firing away and sputtering out quickly, like fireworks. She was in awe, aware that this was the first time she had ever seen the inner workings of her brain, and it was evident by the somber looks on both doctors' faces that what they all were looking at was not normal.

"You were right to assume you were not quite healed," said Dr. Cho, increasing the image and rotating it. She pointed at a spot in the center of all the activity, a microscopic device that looked like a grain of rice. "You possess a cluster of nerve-endings and synapses that no ordinary human being possesses. And this mechanism in the middle is blocking your ability to fully access whatever this cluster contains, or is utilized for, which is why the sparks are so short-lived. They have nowhere to travel."

Friya hopped down and stood in the center of the hologram to get a better look, twisting the image around, increasing and decreasing the size, until she figured out where the little grain of rice sat in her brain.

"Foresight, pre-existence… Freya," Friya muttered, scraping her nails over her bottom lip. "This is why I'm unstable, weak. They blocked me from Freya."

"From who?" Steve asked tentatively.

"My sister," she replied, pointing at the cluster of sparks with her cuffed hands. "We are halves of one whole being, and that is our link - everything we share is together. Foresight, power, memories. Without the link, I am less than her. I am not myself."

"Wait a minute," interjected Barton. "There are two of you?"

Friya ignored him and looked at the cluster again, "I'll have to remove it, otherwise I will only ever have half an explanation. I need all my memories. If someone could remove these precautions-"

"I don't think that would be a good idea," said Steve, apologetically. "It could be -"

The collar and cuffs unlocked and fell to the floor, and everyone looked to Tony Stark, the only person with the ability and access codes to do it. He looked innocent and yet also unrepentant, an achievement if there ever were one to be admired and respected for. She offered him an appreciative nod, while rotating her joints and stretching, relaxing control on her power and letting it roam in swirling tendrils through the lab, playing over the skin of everyone present. There was a mist blanketing the floor, spreading out from her feet, sparks of white electricity buzzing through it and a frigid chill to the air that was crisp, clean, and smelled of harsh winters and snowy mountain ranges, of alpine and fir trees, and pristine waters untouched by man and frosty breezes of the purest air.

Her translucent skin grew more pale, more alabastine, as her veins glowed moonlight underneath. The metallic silver of her eyebrows frosted over, her eyes a cloudy gray, but none save for Thor moved to chain her once more.

As quickly as a shiver running down a spine, Friya pulled it all back into herself, leaving the lab with a warm breeze that tasted of spring.

She gasped, still cut off from all that exists, from the natural magic of every planet, from the sun, the stars, and the galaxies beyond. She was alone in the universe. She could not even feel her sister.

"What did you do?" demanded Thor, hammer at the ready, a large, thick hand lifting her off her feet by her throat. He paid no mind to the sadness in her eyes, the lone tear slipping down her cheek. He never trusted her, scared by his own assumptions about her, and she could feel it as a thunderstorm raging in her head. "What form of creature are you?"

Friya did not answer immediately, simply pressing the palm of her hand to the back of her head behind her ear, and releasing her magic to pull the miniscule device from her brain.

Thor watched in shock, clamping his hand more tightly around her throat, only to realize he could not bend her flesh to his will.

The device ripped through her brain and out through her flesh, just under her skull, caught in the concentrated web of power dancing around in the palm of her hand. It floated over to Banner and Stark, who both jumped back into action as the small piece of tech dropped into a sterile petri dish.

Thor refused to let her down, even as she sobbed. If she could not connect to the universe, she would slowly become mortal, as Steve for example. The light would wither and die out, deteriorating in Wanda and Pietro, driving them mad before killing them. She could not bear for that to happen. Their deaths would mean her death, as she had entwined her very essence within them, to protect them, as her creations - the closest to children she had ever experienced.

"I will only repeat myself once," growled Thor, slamming her down onto the lab table. "What are you?"

Everyone was attempting to pull him off of her, at the exact moment she unleashed her fragmented mind unto Thor.

The Avengers witnessed everything she could remember, in pieces of glass that shredded through her brain with ease. They witnessed the empty expanse of the universe, no planets to colonize, no burgeoning civilizations to conquer each other. There was only the Immortals, protected in the heart of shining stars, and the Celestials, waging war for the essence of life - the stones that their races worshipped. The stones that bore the universe from the womb of her own Queen Mother.

They followed her descent to Asgard, watching her sister leave through the Bifrost for Midgard, spending centuries alone in the mountains, surrounded by ice and snow, owls her only companions. They saw her arrival to Midgard, in the middle of a moor in Scotland, and her the tribes that came from all over to beg for her blessing, to learn her ways and abide by the natural law. They witnessed her travels, her tiredness of death, her climb to the highest mountains in the coldest fjord in Norway, and felt her sadness and woe as she buried herself in ice.

They discovered her wakening at the ripple of the first world war, the broken and bloodied soldiers in makeshift wards during the second, and the deplorable conditions as she pedaled through the poor streets of the east end to deliver babies - a strong desire to nurse new life, instead of approaching death.

They saw Zola's scientists surrounding her in Switzerland, he confusion she had felt not knowing how they grabbed her, how they discovered her, and experienced the pain as they succeeded in controlling her. There came the broken decades of devastation, the loneliness as she watched Winter and his lady love find each other again and again, the sorrow it brought when the two were separated and erased from each others' minds, torn apart and broken. She felt shame as Steve Rogers bore witness to her fragile mind, and the nights with his closest friend, ripping each other to pieces and entanglement of limbs as they sought refuge from their rage and resentment.

They all crumbled under the weight of her regret, as she obeyed HYDRA, and as she broke free in great part to the Captain. Every single one of them came to realize how deeply she could love, watching the year pass with Pietro and Wanda, and the indescribable visions that had begun to grow more intense with the sense of doom lingering on the horizon.

They experienced what had been, the universe in a glimpse as it was at that moment, and the endless possibilities of what could be in bits and pieces - the immense sorrow of every life passing or gone, forced to linger in a plain of waiting for eternity.

It was then that Thor managed to pull away with a roar, "Enough!"

Everyone else fell to the floor, clutching their heads, their hearts, their souls, trying to comprehend the magnitude of life she had lived. The weight of her existence squeezed the air from their lungs, for it was no strong feat for mere mortals to understand the birth of life and the responsibility of an entire universe that stretched out into the void of nothingness. Yet, they managed. They gasped and choked and sobbed, growling and whimpering, laying on the floor in the wake of what the God of Thunder had brought unto them.

In the wake of everything, it was Friya left splintered and reeling, her grasp on reality, yet again, slipping away.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Sokovia.

No one mentioned what they had experienced in that lab, before Ultron manifested, before humanity was almost wiped from existence. It seemed as if she had been given a silent welcome, an unspoken agreement from the Avengers that she was undeniably good, pure under the decades of destruction she had caused under the influence of HYDRA. No one questioned her again, and no one displayed an iota of distrust. Ultron had distracted them all for days, and there was nothing left to be said.

Thor had bowed to her, knelt on bended knee and apologized profusely later that day. It had shocked Steve, who had taken her into his rooms to recover, and had stayed close during the worst of her sobbing and whimpering, as her mind slowly healed, piecing itself back together. Yet, it had soothed the nagging edges of her pride to be forgiven and to forgive, aware that the Asgardian had been raised on the tales of her race, the Bringers of Life to Death, and Death to Life.

Speaking of Steve, he had kept quiet, but she had felt the conflict in him growing in spite of the Ultron situation. He desperately wanted to ask her about his friend, and her involvement, but there had been too much to deal with to stop and answer his questions.

During the battle of Sokovia, she had suffered greatly when her sister, Freya, had heeded her call and assisted. Having exhausted her own power, as they both worked together to lower the city back to Earth, Freya had clasped their hands together and tore through her mind like a maelstrom. Every mental wound, every block that cut her off from the universe had been ripped open, and as Freya as the conduit, she had reconnected with the source of their conjoined essence. It had been difficult to fight through the searing pain, but fight she did. And when the ground settled gently back into the earth, and the city knitting itself seamlessly back together, their magic erasing any evidence of disturbance, Friya was swallowed by darkness, suffering under the crushing weight of a universe filled with expectation.

When she woke again, it was in a plush bed of silver white, with a throbbing pain in her head and devastating, gut-wrenching, sorrowful weight beating down on her chest.

She was alone, but not.

The muffled sound of a shower broke through the pounding in her head, and the echo of Steve's voice anchored her to reality, far more easily than anything else she could have grasped at. It dawned on her, in that moment, that he had watched over her, cared for her, and he considered her someone worth saving. Someone worthy.

How very… _Steve_ of him.

How very odd it made her feel.

The minutes passed, as she turned to her side and hugged a pillow close to her chest, breathing in the subtle hint of Steve that still clung to the fibres. She could still feel the bullets peppering Pietro, taking him from the living. She remembered the moment she felt it happen, in the midst of everything else she was experiencing at the time, painful piercing of her heart and the suddenness of life slipping away. As she lay in the center of the city, ravaged and raw, like a frayed nerve, she had still felt every bullet. And in the midst of the receding chaos, as Sokovia fell back into place, she been overwhelmed with agonizing pain, as a piece of herself died - a sorrow, unlike anything she had experienced in her thousands of years of existence, spreading through her chest and wrenching the air from her very lungs.

She could still feel Wanda's grief, the distant wailing sound of a soul in excruciating pain. It was enough to deepen her own despair. She was being pulled beneath the surface, drowning in that sadness and loss, as well. And yet, as she assumed all real mothers would react, she wanted nothing more than to go to Wanda, and comfort her through the loss of her brother, because Friya wanted nothing more than to be soothed through the loss of what she equated to being her son.

"You're awake," came Steve's surprised voice.

Friya hadn't even recognized the almost silent creak of the bathroom door opening, too busy clutching at the stuttered pounding in her chest, as she gasped for a strong breath. Sobs wracked her body, and rather than putting on a brave face, she let her emotions run their course. To grieve was human, and she had spent decades as an unfeeling, indifferent observer and teacher. The Winter Soldier had been the spark, the connection to humanity she had lost so long ago, and the twins…

They had been her heart.

It didn't even register that he wore only a towel tucked low around his hips, and his torso held a dull gleam from the damp following his shower. Normally, she would have been mesmerized by the sheer masculinity of such a specimen, but Steve Rogers had shown her kindness and compassion, even understanding, when he had no reason to, and she owed him that respect. That aside, she was too far gone in mourning to pay that much attention.

"Friya?"

She tried to speak, but it all came out gibberish, garbled by her sadness and her sobs. There was only one sentence that stood out in all the crying and sniffling, and it was that which ushered Steve to her side, to actually hold her, which was more than she had experienced with him since their chance encounter more than a year ago, in the streets of Washington.

"My heart...is...broken," she choked out, and suddenly she was enclosed in the arms of the most noble man history had ever known. "Pietro…"

"Shh," he responded softly, shifting her more closely to his chest, her face angled against his shoulder, as he rubbed a hand over her arm. "Wanda is grieving, too."

"My children," she sobbed, pressing closer. His touch was comforting, and she was embracing it. "Pieces of me...I have never felt such pain…"

They stayed like that for minutes that stretched on like hours, until Friya cried herself dry, and Steve had grown very aware of the fact that he was half naked. When she began drifting off, he nestled her back into the bed, tucking her in, and dressed himself for a day of watching over her, again. It was the most peace he had known since waking up after seventy years of sleep. He read books, followed the news on mundane events, texted check ins with the rest of the team. And he was the only person in the compound that wasn't unnerved by her.

Settling against the headboard in bed next to a quiet Friya, he opened the book he had been reading for the last few days, and resumed from the last page he had been skimming. It was definitely the most domestic he had been in a good, long while. That it was with an all powerful being that had seen the birth of the universe, was just a small detail. To be honest, she had grown on him. There was something about her that was innately good, and what Hydra had done to her had affected her psyche greatly. Tarnished her soul, in a way that fragmented her very existence. And, following the events of Sokovia, her recovery from whatever had happened between her sister and she, it seemed as if she was more… human.

There was a humanity about her now.

"I know that he was not truly my son, but," she paused over a deep, tired sigh. "Something happened, before they became...They were so lost, and scared. So much anger. I had never cared for mortals as much as I came to care about them."

Steve said nothing as she traced strange symbols over the back of his hand, or even acknowledged that her touch was causing a stirring in him that was inappropriate at that moment in time. He simply let her talk, allowing her the catharsis of divulging to a trusted friend, at the very least.

"If I had not intervened, von Strucker would have killed them eventually," she admitted, sniffling again. "I stood in place as the binding agent and the catalyst, everything changed. They became...part of me… And I of them. The closest thing to children I have experienced in my long life. I had only known the responsibility of death, and in that moment, I had saved life. That moment...shifted something in me. And now Pietro is gone. I failed to protect him."

"You still have Wanda," Steve said, gently. "You can still protect her."

"You're right. I can feel her anguish, her pain. I should be helping her," she replied, sitting up and wiping her eyes as she contemplated and then decided on what she would do next. She turned to him, and offered a watery smile, cupping his face. "First, let me ease your mind. You worry about your friend. I do not know where he is, but I can show you how he is fairing. Just breathe."

And he did, relaxing into her hand, as she transferred what she could see to him. There was Bucky, unkempt and exhausted, kneeling by a bed as a woman with wild curls obscuring her face fought through something terrifying, but she was familiar all the same. In the dim light of a rising sun, Steve could see the way Bucky watched over her, spoke softly to her, chased away her nightmares. _It gets better,_ he whispers. _Tomorrow will be better, you'll see._ And it was a relief to Steve, to know that Bucky was well enough to help another through the same, gave him hope for the future. That one day, they could reconnect, and he could have his best friend back.

It had been a long road of turmoil for him to have not found Bucky, yet. Though, the knowledge that he was safe, and well, was enough to ease the conflict in Steve. This glimpse was what he had needed, after so many roads ending nowhere.

"Thank you," Steve breathed out, begrudgingly letting her hand slip away. "Just… thank you."

She smiled again, wiping away a stray tear from just below his eye and left.


End file.
